


Drinks with the Devil

by AmeliaDarkholme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaDarkholme/pseuds/AmeliaDarkholme
Summary: Crowley had always been fond of children. There was one child in particular that would forever hold a place in his nonexistent heart.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 49





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this crossover is actually something me and my dearest friend (you know who you are, darling) came up with. She gave me these one-word prompts, and I wrote this story based on it. There are fifty of them, but I'll post only five for every chapter. So there'll be ten chapters in total. I really hope you guys like :D

> **Cold**

"Cold," the little girl in his arms muttered as she buried her face into his hair, pressing her tiny face against his neck.

"Do you need a jacket, kid?" Crowley replied. Unlike the angel, he was pretty fluent in many human languages. He always struggled with Russian though.

"No," the eight-year-old whispered, pulling her head back from Crowley's neck. " _You're_ cold."

"Oh." He was a snake, so obviously, he would be cold. But he couldn't possible tell her that now could he.

Before he could decide on what he should say, the girl beat him to it. "It's fine though. I like it."

* * *

> **Bruises**

Crowley watched from afar how Oksana slammed a man twice her size to the ground. It had been three years since he dropped her off with the Twelve, and he was proud to see how much she'd grown. He knew that being raised by a bunch of assassins wasn't exactly the life he should offer to a little girl. But again, like he'd always told himself countless times, at least she now had not only a roof above her head, but also the means to protect herself from whatever arseholes that would threaten her in the future.

Even though he hated seeing the bruises on Oksana's cute little face that he had to heal every time he visited her before bed time.

* * *

> **Running**

"You know you can't run from him forever, Crowley."

If Villanelle thought that Crowley would be shocked to see her in his flat out of the blue, than she was sorely mistaken. Crowley was a demon, and demons didn't get shocked so easily.

"I can. I have done it before. _Many_ times. Watch me do it again, kid. Drinks?"

The assassin kicked herself off the counter she was leaning on, shaking her head no as she plopped down on the couch she liked to think as _her_ couch. Crowley seemed surprised at her refusal, seeing that one of the first things he taught her was to never object free booze unless she was offered by weird strangers. Well, _weirder_ than him. But he moved past it quite quick, poured himself a glass full of Chardonnay, and sat on the couch across Villanelle. The demon took his time finishing his drink, clicking his tongue appreciatively after every sip. The whole time Villanelle waited for him patiently, as she always did. Crowley was pouring himself another glass when he finally turned his attention on her.

"Aziraphale told you where I am, didn't he?" Crowley began. Villanelle nodded.

"It took him four months to relent. Called me on my work number, which nearly got me killed. He should be grateful I like you enough to give him another chance." When her favourite chocolate suddenly appeared on her lap, Villanelle knew Crowley meant it as a thank you. She accepted it wordlessly, unwrapping the chocolate and took a bite. "I was a bit surprised when he told me to look for you here, all the way in Moscow. Asked him why he didn’t find you himself."

"And? What did he say?"

"Said there were some misunderstandings. Things to clear out now that you two have the rest of time to waste, preferably together. So, he gave you the time you needed to calm yourself.” Scoffing, she took another bite of her chocolate. “As if pining uselessly for six millennium wasn't a waste of time already."

"Shut your trap, kid. Did he say anything else?"

"He did. Don't know what it means though. He said that he's been listening to... _bebop_? What the _fuck_ is bebop anyway?"

Villanelle was a hundred percent sure that her Guardian Demon had finally lost it when he started to cackle in genuine mirth instead of answering her.

* * *

> **Sorry**

After the Apocanope, and their handy little trick that managed to fool both Heaven and Hell, it was only then did Crowley decided to come clean about everything to Aziraphale. And by everything, he really did mean _everything._ He’d loved the angel for six thousand years already, and he considered it safe to say that the angel returned his feelings. Technically, there really was nothing else that the angel didn’t know about him. Except for _one,_ tiny, little detail.

Who was no longer tiny, and was actually a lethal, twenty-three year old female assassin.

“Hi, I’m Villa– I mean, I’m Oksana,” the assassin introduced herself, surprising Crowley when she gave Aziraphale her real name. She gave her hand out to the angel, who merely stared it until Villanelle slowly lowered her hand to her side.

Crowley knew that other than Konstantin and Eve, Villanelle only trusted him. So for her to _willingly_ give him her real name, the demon knew how much it mattered to her to be accepted by Aziraphale.

“Angel?” Crowley said slowly, eyeing his best friend. “Is something wrong—“

“What _have_ you done to her?” Aziraphale whispered, sounding positively horrified as he finally turned to look at Crowley. “Good Lord, I can feel _so much_ Darkness in her. She’s done so many terrible, _terrible_ things in all her twenty-three years of life. I almost can’t feel the Light—“

Crowley had tuned out. He knew how conceited Aziraphale could be at times, especially when he was deep in his usual holier-than-thou moods. And Crowley was _fine_ with it. He’d endured six thousand years of Aziraphale’s flippant comments about how he was positively demonic and way past the point of redemption. But to hear the angel saying all those things about Villanelle… Crowley couldn’t take it. Aziraphale could insult Crowley anytime, any day to his heart’s content. But _not_ Villanelle.

Not his little Oksana.

“—honestly, Crowley; I wouldn’t even be surprised if Beelzebub popped in right here right now to claim her soul. The girl’s just—“

“ _Stop it,”_ Crowley growled, glaring at Aziraphale from behind his glasses. “I don’t know what I’ll do to you if you say another word, angel, because I’d _hate_ to find out.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as his face flushed red. He opened and closed his mouth, obviously trying to find something to say. Crowley knew he had shocked the angel. In six thousand years, this was the first time he was furious enough to threaten Aziraphale with physical harm. Looking at Villanelle from the corner of his eyes, he saw how dejected she looked as she kept her eyes at her fancy Laurent’s boots. It was very out of character for her, but Crowley understood. After all, the both of them weren’t so different from one another—they _craved_ acceptance. He’d only seen such a look once before, and that was when he dropped her off with the Twelve. It wasn’t a good look on her, which was why he’d sworn many years ago that he’d make sure she wouldn’t have any reason to look so miserable ever again.

“Come on, Oksana,” Crowley said, giving his hand to her. “We’ll leave.”

“Crowley—“

But Crowley wouldn’t listen. He _didn’t_ want to listen to Aziraphale. He held Villanelle’s hand firmly in his and dragged her out of the bookshop and into the Bentley. He drove back to his flat in complete silence, and he was even driving like a normal human being who hadn’t the luxury to miracle the traffic to his desire. What usually would have taken him only two minutes took a lot longer than anyone was used to. Beside him, Villanelle was uncharacteristically silent, although Crowley could feel her eyes watching him. She only broke the silence once they’d reached his flat.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know how much he means to you.”

When Villanelle reached for his hand, Crowley met her in the middle. Sighing heavily, he squeezed her hand once before he let go. He didn’t say the words, but they both knew that no matter how sorry she felt, it was nothing compared to what _Crowley_ felt. They wouldn’t talk about it though. They never did. They weren’t good at talking about feelings. Instead, they would get horribly drunk.

After all, there was nothing an extraordinary amount of alcohol couldn’t fix.

* * *

> **Eyes**

“Why don’t I have gold eyes like you?” Oksana whined as she plucked Crowley’s glasses from his face so she could put them on. “They’re _soooo_ much better than mine.”

“Hazel’s a pretty colour too, kid,” Crowley replied. “Almost golden in certain light, in fact.”

“But they’re _boring._ Gold’s cool. How do I look?” She gave Crowley a big, endearing smile that made her looked almost angelic. It didn’t help that Crowley’s glasses practically swallowed her small face.

No one would have thought that the girl had stabbed another child in her training with her hair-clip.

“You look cool, kid. Now off to bed. Wouldn’t want your handler to find you still awake. And give me back my glasses.”

The future-assassin gave a dramatic sigh as she returned Crowley’s glasses. She climbed back onto her bed and wrestled herself to get under her blankets. The demon was about to miracle himself out of the room when he heard a soft, “Crowley?”

“Yes, Oksana?” Crowley sighed, lowering himself onto the foot of the girl’s bed. He threw a look around to make sure that his miracle was still working, and that her roommates were still ‘asleep’.

“Promise you’ll buy me my own glasses someday? So we can match!” The way the cunning little brat jutted out her lower lip as she widened her eyes _just_ the right amount made Crowley almost believed that she’d at least met Aziraphale _once_ before.

There was just _no way_ someone else could make a perfect puppy-dog look the way the angel did.

“Alright, I promise. Just go to sleep, kid.”

Oksana whooped and quickly burrowed herself back under her blankets. But not before exclaiming, “Thank you, Crowley! You have pretty eyes, by the way. Good night!”

If Crowley had a smile on his face, then so be it. No one was around to see it anyway.


	2. Two

> **Comfort**

Villanelle had only ever cried once in front of Crowley.

It was back when she was Oksana. Back before she was the dangerous assassin that she became known for. She was only fourteen years old then, and it was just a couple months after her birthday. Since she was nine, the first time she had her birthday with Crowley, the man always promised that he would always come for her birthday. But that year, he’d forgotten. She would later blame it on the fact that she was going through puberty for making her insecure and clingy and emotional. Fortunately, Crowley never said anything about it. Never said anything about him finding her standing at the courtyard, tears falling down her face as she cried in silence. Oksana hadn’t even realised he was there until she felt his long arms wrapped around her shoulders, and his voice murmuring his apologies over and over again. At first, she had half a mind to send him away, telling him that he couldn’t just hug her after forgetting her birthday. But the weight of Crowley’s arms felt nice around her, and she really _did_ miss him. So she kept quiet as she let him to comfort her.

Because that was a luxury. People like Oksana didn’t get comforted when they cried. People like Oksana, who was raised by trainers and handlers to become an assassin, had no right to be comforted. But then there was Crowley, who would waltz into her life every once in a while, like her very own guardian angel, giving her hugs and presents and _Goddam fucking comfort._ Oksana didn’t deserve anything Crowley gave her because only good people deserved it. And she was mature enough to acknolwedge that she was not a good person. However, being a bad person meant she was allowed to be selfish, and she would use it as her reason to accept all the good things she got from Crowley. For the next few years, that became the dynamics between them. Crowley would do good things for her, and Oksana would remind herself that she was being selfish when she received them. It worked out pretty nicely, and if there was a voice in the back of her mind told her to find an opportunity to repay all his kindness, Oksana dilligently ignored it.

Villanelle finally got her chance when she was twenty three.

It was after that disastrous meeting they had with Aziraphale. Truthfully, Villanelle gave no shit about the blond ma—sorry, blond _angel._ With all of the horrible things she had done, she knew that she was bound for Hell. It wasn’t like she believed in it anyway, and that was probably another reason why she would go Downstairs. But she knew that Aziraphale mattered a lot to Crowley, and because Crowley mattered a lot to _her,_ it made Aziraphale’s approval important. She originally didn’t know who he actually was, not until Crowley told her in the car when they were on their way to the Ritz. She didn’t know how Aziraphale looked like because Crowley didn’t have pictures of him. Then again, maybe supernatural beings couldn’t get photographed. But the moment Villanelle’s eyes found Aziraphale’s figure, just before Crowley brought her to his friend to introduce, she knew instantly who Aziraphale was. Or _what_ he was. So, his negative reaction toward her wasn’t really that surprising or disappointing. Well, it did disappoint her because she really wanted Aziraphale to like her for Crowley’s sake. But everyone knew that it was Crowley who was the most disappointed.

She found out just _how_ disappointed Crowley was when she found him gloomly tending to his plants the next morning. Even before she found out what Crowley was, she had seen many times the weird and unorthodox way Crowley did to grow his plants. She knew about his routine to scream threats and obscenities at those green inanimate objects. So to find him mutely sprinting water at his plants with his mister, Villanelle knew how serious Aziraphale’s objection toward her had affected him. Taking a leaf out of his book, she slowly approached him, her fluffly-socked feet making no noise to announce her presence. Crowley seemed to know anyway, judging from the way his body half turned in her direction. He said nothing though, not even when Villanelle gently wrapped her arms around his slender figure, offering him comfort in the same way he did many years ago. At first, she could feel how tense he was at the contact, his back all stiff and straight against her. But it only took a few seconds before he relaxed, even going as far as putting his chin on top of her head when he wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer.

Apologies didn’t come easily to her, but for Crowley, she was willing to try.

“I’m sorry,” Villanelle said softly. “I’m really sorry, Crowley. I really am.”

“No, it’s not your fault, _malen’kiy,_ ” Crowley said, voice just as soft. “It’s not even Aziraphale’s fault. If anything, it’s _my_ fault. I did this to you. I was the one who brought you to the Twelve.”

Villanelle knew that there was no use in arguing with Crowley, so she just buried herself deeper against him. It seemed to work better anyway.

* * *

> **Soft**

She didn’t mean to do it. She really didn’t.

In her defense, Crowley shouldn’t have bailed on her when they were having dinner together.

If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have followed him all the way to a bloody graveyard in the first place. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have seen him talking to those two ugly men with _fucking amphibians_ on top of their heads. But he did, and that left her with no choice. So she tried to get as closer as she possibly could toward them, making sure that she was making no sound at all. The tall weirdo with the frog on his head was speaking, and the longer he spoke, the more agitated Crowley seemed. But they were talking in such soft tones, so Villanelle took a few steps closer to hear them better.

“…getting _soft,_ Crowley,” Villenelle caught the tall one said, a malicious sneer on his face. “Where’s the famed demon who got a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition? Too busy playing house with your little pet assassin?”

_What the fuck?_

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Crowley said in that faux cheery voice Villanelle had long realised as his lying-voice.

“Oh come on, Crowley,” the shorter one with the lizard now said, his voice low and sinister in the way that made even Villanelle unsettled. “Don’t lie to us. You don’t think we wouldn’t notice everything she did? I have to say though, Crowley, I didn’t think you had it in you to raise such an _evil_ child. Six thousand years, and she’s the only one of your _many_ children who actively sinned so heinously.”

_Six thousand years? Children?_

“Well, you know I—“

“We really aren’t interested in your excuses,” Lizard Man said. “Just remember your duties, Crowley. We’d hate to hurt that little monster you have. Maybe when this is all over, you could ask the Big Boss to make her an addition to our ranks.”

With that, they both sunk into the ground beneath them.

And that marked the first time Villanelle entertained the idea that Crowley _wasn’t_ human.

* * *

> **Pain**

Occult and ethereal beings couldn’t feel pain the same way mortals did. Well, sure, technically they _could._ If they chose to. But who would ever choose to feel pain? No one in their right mind would. So, throughout his long years of life, which far longer than Aziraphale’s, Crowley had only ever felt pain _twice._ The first time was when he Fell, and that was quite possibly the worst pain he’d ever felt. The second time though, wasn’t as physical, and that was when Aziraphale had been discorporated. It felt as painful though, and for Crowley, it was even more crippling. When he thought his Angel had been discorporated, the demon had lost all hope. Without Aziraphale, he couldn’t possibly stop the Apocalypse all by himself. And he had to. For the sake of humanity. For Warlock, who he’d sent away to be with his horrible parents even though all Crowley wanted was to keep the boy with him for all times. For his dearest Villanelle, who had no idea that her world was about to end. But then everything turned up for the better, and Crowley sincerely hoped that it would stay that way.

Obviously, it was naïve of him to wish for it.

“Don’t do it, Oksana,” Crowley said, using his body to shield Warlock from the gun in Oksana’s hand. “I beg you, don’t do it. _Please._ ”

It _pained_ him to do it, to stand between the two children he’d loved with his entire being and yet had wronged the most. He never thought that it would one day lead to this, even though Aziraphale had warned him many times before. He always told the Angel that he was being ridiculously paranoid. After all, who could guess that Warlock would one day grow into one of the most refered world leaders in the world, and his enemies would hire Oksana to assassinate him. For Crowley’s _ancient_ age, the both of them would always be the children he’d raised in the only way he knew how. He never thought there would come a time that _this_ would happen.

“Step aside, Crowley,” Oksana whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “You know I have to do this.”

“Oksana—“

“And _stop_ calling me that. I haven’t been Oksana in years. My name is Villanelle.”

“ _Villanelle,_ don’t this. Please. You don’t have to. I can help you. Just…put the gun down.”

The blonde clenched her jaw as her hand started to tremble. With her free hand, she roughly wiped her tears away. “I will put the gun down only if you tell me that you l-love me more.”

Crowley sighed. He knew right then and there what was going to happen. “I love you _both_ equally, sweetheart. You know that. I can’t possibly choose between you and Warlock. You two are my children.”

“Nanny, no,” Warlock said, trying to push Crowley aside frantically because apparently, the boy understood. “It’s not worth it. _I’m_ not worth it. Let her kill me.”

“Listen to the brat, Crowley. I really don’t want to shoot you,” Oksana spat out.

He’d always known, but it still amazed him how _sweet_ his children were.

“I love you, Oksana, Warlock.”

With the click of his fingers, a loud bang rang in the room and everything became dark.

_(“Help him, Adam!”)_

He could have sworn though, that he’d heard his Angel’s voice before he lost his consciousness.

* * *

> **Chocolate**

“What is this?” the ten year old asked, eyeing the triangular bar of chocolate in her hand.

“It’s chocolate, kid,” Crowley said. “Haven’t you ever had one before?”

“Nope,” Oksana said, popping the p. She brought the chocolate closer to face, sniffing it. Her face brightened a bit at the sweet smell of the chocolate. “Can I eat it?”

When Crowley nodded, Oksana took a tiny bite of the chocolate. Her face instantly pulled into a huge smile the moment she tasted the chocolate, and she started to take bigger bites out of it. The demon couldn’t help his own smile that escaped him. “I take it you like the chocolate?”

“Yes!” the girl exclaimed through a mouth full of chocolate. “This is the best thing _ever!_ ”

“Well, I’m glad you liked—“

“ _I love you, Crowley!_ ”

The demon froze, feeling his non-existant heart froze. It took him about a full minute before he could finally give a respond. If Oksana noticed the change in the atmosphere, she was blessedly unaware of it, too busy chomping on her chocolate. “W-what…what did you say to me, kid?”

“I love you,” Oksana replied. “Why?”

“Nothing. It’s just… Where did you learn that word?”

“What word?”

“That word. The L-word.”

“Love?”

“Yeah. That.”

For the first time that night, Oksana took her eyes off her chocolate. Her face scrunched up adorably as she titlted her head slightly to the side, something she always did when she was thinking hard. It was a while later before she answered Crowley. “I heard it from a movie. I won a fight last month, and my treat was a movie. And in the movie, they said ‘I love you’ when they really liked a present.”

“Oh,” Crowley said shortly. He didn’t know what else to say.

“What does it mean though?” Oksana then asked, nearly giving Crowley a heart attack—even though, again, he did _not_ have a heart. “Is it like thank you?”

“No, it’s not. It has a completely different meaning, actually.”

“What _does_ the word mean, then?”

“You know what, kid? Ask me this question again in thirty to forty years.”

Oksana pouted. “Why do I have to wait that long? I want to know now!”

Crowley shrugged, already eager to change the subject. “Because I said so, Oksana. Now, finish your chocolate before anyone finds out about it.”

The girl made a huge show of sighing dramatically before she threw the rest of her chocolate in her mouth. “ _Fine…_ Good night, Crowley! Don’t forget your promise!”

And Oksana never said the L-word ever again. She never neven mentioned it in passing, although Crowley kept giving her the chocolate that soon became her favourite thing to eat. The word never escaped her lips, not until _many_ years later in the future.

When she was just a few months away from turning fifty.

_(“Come back, Crowley,” whispered the blonde as she watched the so-called Antichrist used his magic to bring back the demon. “I’m sorry. I really am. Please, come back. I love you.”)_

* * *

> **Champagne**

“So, you’ve finally made up with your boyfriend?” Villanelle asked as she poured the super expensive champagne that she’d nicked from her latest victim’s house into the glass in Crowley’s hand.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Crowley retorted back, rolling his eyes in annoyance even as he downed the content in his glass. “There is no such thing as a boyfriend for us supernatural beings.”

“Sure, sure. You’re not boyfriends. Yeah, I believe that.”

“Fuck off, kid.”

Villanelle stuck her tongue out at Crowley, who childishly blew raspberries at her. The assassin couldn’t stop herself from giggling. She was glad to find that things were all right again between Crowley and Aziraphale, and with the alcohol in her system, it made her even giddier. Refilling her glass, she played her eyebrows at Crowley before she started to drill on him about all the details. “So? How did it happen? I want to know everything.”

“We talked. We argued.” Crowley took a moment to pause, clicking his tongue obnoxiously as he shoved his glass in Villanelle’s direction. “We had approximately twelve bottles of wine throughout our conversation. By then, we were both too drunk to be angry with each other. So that was it, then. Now, give me a refill.”

Villanelle stared at Crowley long and hard, who merely replied with a challenging rise of his eyebrow. It left her with no choice but to relent, leaning forward to refill Crowley’s glass. “You really aren’t going to tell me more, are you?”

“Clever guess.”

“I’m not guessing, Crowley.”

“Even better.”

“I hate you.”

“Right back at you, kid.”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, please check the notes at the end of this chapter.

> **Angels**

Aziraphale often forgot about it, but Crowley was actually one of God’s oldest beings. He was created way before most of his siblings. As one of the first Archangels, even. The only other supernatural being who was older than Crowley was Lucifer, who was his first and oldest friend. Before they’d both Fallen, there was a time when _Raphael_ and Lucifer were practically joined at the hip. Lucifer would often sit with him while Raphael created his planets and nebulae and stars. Other times, Raphael would take Lucifer to visit his creations. They were the closest each other had to a brother. _A family._ None of their other siblings would admit it, but it was obvious how they were envious every time they saw the ease and closeness between God’s oldest and most favourite Archangels. Michael, as the third oldest, was the only one whose nonchalant act was the most convincing. The fact that she was also the one first one who was the most unlike either Raphael or Lucifer might be the reason why she wasn’t so hostile toward her brothers. But the same couldn’t be said about Gabriel and Uriel, who had the look of the utmost contempt when they watched Raphael and Lucifer Fell.

Contrary to what most people believed, Lucifer didn’t change much after he’d Fallen. Raphael figured that was because Lucifer was always like that from the day God created him. If anyone changed after they Fell, that would be Raphael, who took up the name Crawly in what he hoped was an act of rebellion toward God. He believed that by shedding his real name, he could show God that he wasn’t _hurt_ that he was cast out. Lucifer knew better though. He always did understand him better. So, to cheer Crawly up, Lucifer offered him the position as one of the Seven Princes of Hell. Had Crawly accepted, Beelzebub wouldn’t have become one of the Princes of Hell. But of course, Crawly refused it. He never told Lucifer why though, since they both knew the King of Hell had already known anyway. Because, although Crawley had changed the most, he was also the one who still had faith in his Creator. It did come of as a surprise, however, when Crawly asked to be a common, low-level demon. But again, Lucifer said nothing about it. He just accepted Crawly’s request before he focused on building his kingdom.

No one knew though, the truth about Crawley, who later changed his name into Crowley. As centuries passed, and Hell became filled to the brim with more demons and sinners, they all overlooked Crowley’s existence. They all only knew him as the demon who spent so much time on Earth, he’d slowly become too… _human._ Even upstairs, the other Archangels had forgotten their brother who helped God in making the universe pretty to look at. But they did realise, all beings from Heaven and Hell, that whatever mistakes Crowley did, there never seemed to be a punishment. No one dared to question it, least of all the demons. Like Crowley, the truth about who Lucifer was had also ceased to exist. Everyone only knew him as the horrible being that dared to defy God, as the epitome of everything terrible in the universe. So, if Lucifer decided to let Crowley get away with it, they’d just sit back and silently accepted it.

They all did, except for one occult being. It was the youngest of the Princes, Beelzebub. They were the only one, other than Lucifer and Crowley, and also _God_ herself, who knew the truth. Who still _remembered_ the truth. And they hated it. They couldn’t believe that Crowley dared to defy Lucifer, and wasn’t punished for it. They just couldn’t accept it. For centuries, they tried to set Crowley up into trouble time and time again, but with Lucifer in his side, Crowley always managed to walk away from it. Oh, they knew that Crowley was besotted with that frumpy angel. _Everyone_ knew about that. And once upon a time, they’d expected that _that_ would finally be the last straw. But of course, Lucifer turned a blind eye to what Crowley had done. It made Beelzebub angry that even though the two oldest supernatural beings hadn’t talked to one another in almost ten thousand years, Lucifer still let Crowley walked all over him. That was why when Crowley foiled the plans for the Armageddon, Beelzebub decided that that was it. They had enough.

If Lucifer wouldn’t do it, _they_ would be the one to punish Crowley.

Fortunately for Crowley, he had Agnes Nutter’s prophecy to help him, and everything worked out for him and Aziraphale in the end.

“You know,” Villanelle said after Crowley finished his story about his life. “I am not a child. I am almost thirty years old. You don’t need to PG your past as if it was a fairy-tale.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley snapped, rolling his eyes even though he knew Villanelle wouldn’t be able to see from behind his glasses. “You should be grateful that you know this story. You’re one of the only four beings who know about it. I haven’t even told Aziraphale.”

“Why didn’t you?” the assassin asked, looking genuinely surprised. “I mean, I didn’t even think it’s possible that he wouldn’t know. He’s an angel, right? And you were one yourself.”

“That was long ago, kid,” he reminded in a quiet voice that made Villanelle looked chastised. He quickly gave her leg a quick squeeze to let her know he wasn’t mad at her. “And I didn’t tell Aziraphale because I don’t want him to treat me differently once he knows who I was. He hadn’t been around back then, remember. He was created after I’d Fallen.”

Villanelle nodded as she flashed Crowley an understanding smile. “That kind of makes sense, I suppose. But I do have one question.”

Cocking an eyebrow, the demon said, “And that is?”

“How _old_ exactly are you?”

“ _Hah._ Wouldn’t you like to know, kid.”

It was a year after the Armageddon’t—which was what Villanelle insisted to call it. The assassin claimed that she was taking a break from her busy schedule, but Crowley knew better. They hadn’t seen each other in about four months, which was after Crowley and Aziraphale made up, and after everything that had happened, Villanelle was rather clingy toward Crowley. Not that the demon minded about it, even though he would never admit it out loud. So, Villanelle had flown in all the way from the States, where her last mission was, and Crowley had picked her up. He took her to Chin Chin Labs because she was craving some weird-flavoured ice cream. Then, like they always did, they went to St James’ park to hang around by the pond as they filled in each other about their lives. Crowley had decided that he wanted to finally tell his ward everything because he did promise her that they would no longer have secrets between them. He was glad that she responded well to it, like she always did about everything in her life.

Crowley only wished that when he finally told Aziraphale, his angel would react the same way.

* * *

> **Vegetables**

In all of her fifty years of life, Villanelle had only prayed exactly one time. She was still Oksana then, just a child. She didn’t even know that praying was a thing until she was ten. _At least._ The first time she asked around about it, to one of her Handlers, they laughed at her. Then she asked about it again to Crowley, because she figured he would explain it better to her. Of course, as a demon, teaching Villanelle how to pray was the last thing he should do. She was only child though, and she didn’t even know Crowley was a demon until _much_ later. But Crowley was Crowley, and he always tried to answer every question he children asked him. So, despite what Villanelle knew now to be excruciatingly painful for him, Crowley showed her how to pray. Her memories of that day were a little hazy, but she could still remember how he looked positively ill after that. In Oksana’s childish mind, she came to the conclusion that praying only made people sick, because that was what happened to Crowley. She never prayed again since then. Even when she finally understood better.

And now, for the first time in forty years, she would try to pray.

“Hey, God. It’s me,” she began, glaring at the ceiling above her as if by doing so she could see the so-called omnipotent being that Crowley and Aziraphale worshiped so much. She quickly smoothened her features when she remembered that she had to be nice if she wanted to make sure her praying was her heard. Clearing her throat, she took Crowley’s immobile hand and decided to start all over again.

“Hey, God. It’s me. Villanelle. Or, I guess you can call me Oksana,” the assassin said, her tone much kinder and softer than before. “I don’t really know how this works, really. I mean, I was raised to be an assassin, so I don’t have that many religious role-models to look up to. The only one I can possibly ask for guidance happens to be a demon, so… Yeah. I guess that’s pretty self-explanatory.”

She tried to strain her hearing, hoping that she could hear some sort of a reply. She was a bit disappointed when she couldn’t but, she didn’t give up. She couldn’t. If it were the other way around, she knew that Crowley would do everything for her. He _had_ done everything for her, which was why he was lying there on the bed, with about ten machines hooked up to him because Adam told her while he couldn’t really bring Crowley back, he could at least help him heal like a normal human would. That wasn’t exactly the best solution in Villanelle’s opinion, but she knew from experience that it was useless to argue with the literature professor who was actually the Antichrist.

“Anyway,” Villanelle continued, coming back from her reverie. “I don’t know whether you remember the first time we talked—shit, I mean, the first time I _prayed—_ but I asked you for something. I asked you for a family. And even though it took years, you finally gave me a family. Well, I suppose, you’ve given me a family long before I realised I wanted one. That’s why you sent Crowley to me, didn’t you? After that, you gave me Eve, which I have never thanked you before, now that I think about it. So, thank you, I suppose. Then, there’s Aziraphale, and Anathema, and Adam, and even _Warlock._ So, yeah. Even though I’ve only ever prayed once before, I know that you _do_ hear us. That you _do_ help us. And that’s why I pray to you again. I need you to help me. _Again._ ”

She looked at the demon lying in front of her. In all the years she knew him, Crowley had always seemed so untouchable to her. No matter what happened, he would always be there to save the day— _to save her._ The man, the _being_ sleeping in the bed before her, was so different than the Crowley she knew. Firstly, she’d never seen him to be so still. He was always moving, like he’d combust if he didn’t. Secondly, she’d never seen him to be this _vulnerable._ Even before she found out he was a demon, Villanelle always thought Crowley to be the toughest person she knew. And because of her, she’d made him like this. She supposed she didn’t have the right to whine about it. After all, it was her _fault._ She did this to him. It was her gun that shot the bullet straight at Crowley, it was her finger that had pulled the trigger.

But Villanelle would fix it. If praying didn’t work, she would fucking sell her soul to Lucifer himself if she had to.

“God,” she whispered, as she held Crowley’s hand tighter in her own clasped hands. “I promise I’ll stop killing people if you’d just bring him back. _Please._ I promise I’ll be a good person. I promise I’ll give away all my earnings, even though I have like billions by now, I think. I…I’ll fucking eat all my vegetables— _fuck, but I’m already sick to my stomach just at the thought of it._ I’ll…I promise I’ll even break up with Eve if that means you’d save Crowley. I’m serious, God. You know how much I love Eve. And I’m willing to sacrifice my love for her, _for Crowley._ I’ll do anything, really. Just _please_ save him. Please, please, _please_ save Crowley…”

The assassin didn’t cry as she ended her prayer, but she was sure that she was very close from doing it. Taking deep breaths to make sure those damned tears didn’t fall, Villanelle buried her face into her hands that were still holding Crowley's, and _waited._ She waited for some sort of a sign from God that her prayer was heard. She waited for a sign that there was still hope. She waited for miracle. She waited, and waited, and waited, until she fell asleep. Sitting uncomfortably on a chair by Crowley’s bed side, their hands clasped together.

_(“Lucifer? Lucifer, can you hear me?”)_

_(“Well, hello there,_ Mum. _Is there anything I can help you with?_ ” _)_

_(“I want you to help your brother. He needs help.”)_

_(“Oh, no. What has dear Raphael done now?”)_

* * *

> **Hair**

Villanelle always liked Crowley’s hair. It was a brilliant, vibrant red that she considered to be so much better than her boring blond locks. Growing up, she’d tried a few times to dye her hair the same colour, but for some reason they would never look as great as Crowley’s. She was vain enough to admit that she was beautiful, that she could pull off whatever hairstyle she wanted to. But there was just something about Crowley and his red hair that made him looked a thousand times better than all the times Villanelle dyed her hair red.

They were in St James’ park, and Crowley was sitting on the ground between Villanelle’s legs while she was seated on the bench. It had been exactly a year since they’d seen each other. Ever since Crowley saved her after her first mission, Crowley had been making an effort to see her at least once every three months. No matter where she was in the world, Crowley would find her. But last year he told that he had a job that would need him working nearly all the time, and that meant he wouldn’t be able to see her as often as they both liked it. At first, Villanelle didn’t think anything of it, seeing that she knew she would be busy with her own work anyway. But after ten months of radio silence, Villanelle was getting restless. She had just decided that she would take a break from work to find him, when Crowley suddenly called her, on the eleventh month.

Villanelle wanted to rave and yell at the man for disappearing on her like that. She didn’t even care if Crowley found out how _scared_ she was that Crowley had abandoned her. Or _worse_ , if her enemies had come looking for him. She just wanted Crowley to know that he was an absolute arse, and that she was incredibly pissed off. However, the man didn’t even give her a chance to say anything, and had immediately demanded that Villanelle came to London so they could celebrate her birthday together. Villanelle could never stay mad at Crowley for a long time, even when he refused to let her come with him on his ‘mysterious trips’ back when she was twelve. So, naturally, Villanelle had practically forgiven him by the time he took her to have lunch at the Ritz. But it was only after Crowley gave her his birthday present, which was a dark-brown sunglasses that was identical to his own except for the colour, that Villanelle relented and gave him a smile. It did take Crowley a decade, but he finally bought her the sunglasses she asked for back when she was a child. He _remembered_ it, and that was what mattered.

“Were you always a redhead?” Villanelle asked as she tried, and failed, to French-braid Crowley’s hair. She was talented in everything she did once she set her mind on it, but hair-braiding? Big no. But she would find a way to succeed. She always did.

Even if she had to sacrifice someone else’s scalp.

“Yep,” Crowley said as he tilted his head up to look at Villanelle, causing the assassin to scowl because the movement ruined all her the hard-work she’d made into braiding Crowley’s hair. “I’ve always had this hair for as long as I remember. Well, maybe not the hairstyle. I used to have _very_ long hair then.”

Villanelle sighed when she gave up at last and admitted to herself that braiding was just something she couldn’t master yet. In the end, she ran her fingers through Crowley’s hair to unbraid it and settled on decorating it with the flowers she and Crowley had gathered before they’d taken a seat. “For my next mission, I think I’m going to dye my hair red. Like yours.”

“Red is good,” Crowley agreed. “Red is very sexy. And maybe curl it a little bit, just enough to make it wavy. People like to imagine what they could do to your hair when you guys do fun things.”

“Do you think I need to cut it?” Villanelle asked, already picturing the look in her mind. “My hair’s a bit too long for me to be able to move freely. Maybe I should cut it shoulder-length, like yours.”

Crowley hummed contemplatively as he once again tilted his head up. This time though, he reached up for her hair, and gently play with the strands. It was a while before he gave a nod and untangle his fingers from her hair. “Yeah, that would look good. Although, if you want to, I can always take you to a hair salon. I’ll even pay for it. Consider it another part of your birthday gift.”

Villanelle grinned at the offer and nodded her head. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so they went to one of the most expensive hair salon in London. They ended up getting more than a haircut and a hair-dye. Crowley asked for the whole package of hair-treatment for two people, completely ignorant of the way the hair dressers widened their eyes in surprise. Villanelle practically beamed at him when he sat next to her as they got their hair washed for a hair spa. She didn’t care the odd looks people were throwing at her and Crowley—Villanelle in her favourite jeans and cream sweater while Crowley in his favourite rockstar ensemble. She knew exactly what those people were thinking when they looked at Villanelle and Crowley. Once or twice, she could even hear what they said as they pointed their rude fingers at them. But Crowley looked entirely unbothered by it, and judging by the small smile he fought hard to hide, he seemed to be enjoying himself. And for Villanelle, that was more than enough.

* * *

> **Name**

“I’m thinking of changing my name.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side as he eyed the teenager in front of him. Ten years had passed since he found her in a dumpster, and now she had officially become one of the youngest female assassins in the world. It was a few months since her first mission, which was the last time they met. They rarely called each other these days, much less for her to take a break from her busy schedule so she could pay him a visit. He wasn’t exactly her guardian. Hell, he wasn’t exactly her _anything._ But he felt honoured that she’d come to tell him about changing her name. After all, names were important. Fuck Shakespeare, but he knew for a fact that names really did matter.

“Is that so? What are you changing your name into then?”

The blonde looked slightly nervous before she answered him. “I was thinking…Villanelle? What do you think about it?”

The demon considered it for a while before shrugging. “It’s okay. Suits you well.”

_Villanelle_ beamed at him, and Crowley couldn’t help but to think that it made her looked much younger than her actual age. “Glad you think so. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it for a while. I mean, you obviously know better than anyone about this.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes at the girl even though he knew she couldn’t see them from behind his glasses. “Why do you think I’d know anything about changing names?”

“Well, I just figured that _Crowley_ couldn’t possibly be your actual name. Wasn’t it the name of that psychotic cult leader? Alice Crowley, or something.” It was Villanelle’s turn to tilt her head to the side as she eyed him closely. “What _was_ it anyway? Your actual name? Please don’t tell me it’s something stuffy like _Archibald._ ”

Crowley thought about the stars and planets and nebulae he helped to create. About his healing powers that he was still allowed to use to help humans. About his ability to stop time whenever he pleased.

About his _siblings_.

“Nah,” came his reply, tone soft and almost inaudible. “My name was Raphael.”

* * *

> **Smile**

Crowley hated his smile. He hated it, because he’d been told by… _reliable sources_ that when he smiled, it was like his whole guard had dropped. He looked approacheable, he looked soft, he looked _kind._ Problem was, it didn’t take much to make him smile. He’d look at something weird Aziraphale did and _bam!_ He was all smiles. He saw Villanelle looking pleased with his gifts, and there was it again. A _stupid_ smile on his face. Then there was that time when Warlock showed him a potted rose that he’d grown himself, and Crowley had a smile so big, he felt his face was splitting. For some reason, despite everything that had happened to him, despite the fact that he was a demon, smiling came so easily to him. That was why he tried so hard to keep his face in a permanent state of scowling. It pushed people away from him, but it wasn’t like Crowley cared. His family knew the truth anyway, and they were the only ones Crowley wanted to keep around him.

So, when he woke up after who the Hell knew how long he’d been unconscious from getting shot at, and saw his family surrounding him, he couldn’t help it when a smile slipped onto his face. On his right, like he always did, was his Angel. Aziraphale was sitting straight on his seat, a book in hand even though it didn’t look like he’d been reading it at all. At the foot of Crowley’s bed, wearing a hoodie and jeans that made him looked younger than his actual age, was Warlock. The young president was slumped in his seat, hands crossed in front his chest while his head lolled to the side, half-asleep. Lastly, on his left, sitting rigidly between him and the door as if to protect him from possible harm, was Villanelle. Like Warlock, she too was asleep. But Crowley knew that the slightest bit of sound or movement would alert the blonde faster than a nuclear alarm would. That was exactly what happened, when the door to his room opened, and a tall man wearing the familiar white doctor’s coat came in. Villanelle wasn’t the only one though, because both Aziraphale and Warlock spun around toward the door so quickly, it was a wonder they didn’t snap their necks.

“Don’t kill me!” the doctor said, using the hand that was holding a clipboard as a mock-shield from the knife in Villanelle’s hand. His voice was a little muffled from the mask he was wearing, but for some reason, Crowley thought it sounded rather familiar.

Villanelle relaxed at the same time Aziraphale and Warlock did, and slipped her knife back into her boot. “I told you to knock, didn’t I,” the blonde said. “I’m really jumpy, doc.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the doctor remarked dryly. He finally took notice of Crowley, and nodded at him. “Oh, look at that, Miss Crowley. Your dad’s finally awake.”

_Miss Crowley? Dad?_

Crowley didn’t get the chance to make questions about it— _the both of them looked roughly the same age for Satan’s sake—_ when his family’s attention all settled on him. Aziraphale was the one who hugged him first, thanking God over and over again as he buried his face in Crowley’s neck. Warlock came second, squeezing right next to Aziraphale to join the hug. Villanelle stayed seated in her chair, looking like all she wanted was to hug him although she hadn’t moved an inch. Crowley understood why she didn’t. He didn’t blame her, he never would, but she did shoot him. Crowley was admittedly surprised that she was even there, instead of hiding somewhere across the world. He didn’t mind though, he was grateful she hadn’t actually. So, he reached toward her with his free hand, beckoning with his fingers for her to come closer. She hesitated for a second, but after Crowley gave her a quick smile, she finally got off her chair and leaned forward to hug him. It felt nice.

It was the best feeling in the world, being surrounded by his family, his none existant heart was near to bursting with all the love he felt for them. He muttered reassurances to all of them that he was okay, that he wouldn’t dream of leaving them. Crowley could feel his hospital robe getting a little damp, and he decided to be kind enough not to mention to any of his loved ones that he knew they were crying. He was pressing a quick kiss to the top of Warlock’s hair as he squeezed Aziraphale’s arm with one hand and stroked Villanelle’s blond locks with his other hand, when he caught the doctor’s eyes. The doctor’s _very blue, very familiar eyes._ Right then and there, Crowley realised that he knew him. He knew the doctor. Even with the mask on, there was no mistaking those blue eyes and how his left eyes was a little wonky. Eight thousand years, and Crowley was still familiar with the way those eyes crinkled along with the crooked smile the demon knew was hidden under that mask. It had been almost eight thousand years since they last saw each other, but Crowley could still remember his _brother’s_ eyes and smile as if it were only yesterday.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley blurted out. It surprised his family to the point that they started to untangle themselves from him. But the demon didn’t let go. If anything, he tightened his hold on them, protective of his family.

“I’m the doctor,” came the reply. His voice sounded amused, and Crowley wanted to slap him for it.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale started as he patted his leg to soothe his agitation. “This is Dr Miller. He’s the one who’s been—“

“Take off the mask,” Crowley said, ignoring Aziraphale. Clenching his jaw, he repeated it again. “Dammit, _doctor,_ take off the stupid mask.”

The demon ignored Aziraphale reprimanding him. He ignored Warlock and Villanelle asking him what was wrong. Crowley’s whole attention was set on the _doctor,_ who stared right back at him with blatant mirth in his eyes. It felt like a century went by before the doctor finally lifted one hand up to take off his mask. None of Crowley’s family seemed surprised when they finally had a look on the doctor. Apparently, according to Warlock, they’d known how he looked. Crowley knew that he supposed it made sense that none of them ran for the hills the moment they looked at the doctor. After all, there were only _four_ beings in the whole universe who knew how King of Hell looked like.

And this adorable-looking goofball, with his crooked smile and wonky, _bright_ blue eyes definitely was the last thing anyone would ever expect _Lucifer_ to look like.

But that was the fact. While Crowley was cursed to look like a typical Bond villain, his brother looked like your-average-next-door neighbour.

“Hello, _brother_ ,” the King of Hell greeted. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Eight thousand years,” Crowley gritted out. “Give or take.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Villanelle interrupted, looking back and forth between Crowley and Lucifer. “ _Brother?_ You guys are _brothers_? Crowley, is that…”

“Oh my God,” Aziraphale breathed, causing both occult beings in the room to flinch. The angel’s eyes were comically wide in a way that would have made Crowley smiled fondly if they were under different circumstances.

“Yes, that is him,” Crowley confirmed to Villanelle, who then let out a string of profanities.

“I don’t get it,” Warlock said with a frown, and only then did Crowley remembered that Villanelle was still the only one in his family that knew the truth. “You and the doctor are brothers? Wait, I didn’t even know you could even have siblings.”

“I have several, actually,” the demon explained. “And this _arsehole_ here is one of them.”

“Technically, I’m the oldest. Raphael here came second,” Lucifer quipped in.

_“Raphael?”_ Aziraphale exclaimed, at the same time Warlock said, “Who are you then?”

And with an shit-eating grin on his face, Crowley’s _big_ brother revealed who he was for the first time ever in eight thousand years.

“Why, I’m Lucifer, of course. God’s original favourite, and Raphael’s dearest brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Finally I get to update this story huehue now, for those of you who are wondering, I picture Bill Hader as Lucifer. You see, I was watching Bill's sketches, the ones when he played talkshow hosts, and most of the comments said that he'd play a great Satan. So yeah. I talked to my dearest friend, and we both agreed on this. I get that Benedict Cumberbatch was the one who voiced Lucifer, but I kinda see it this way; when he's not a behemoth, Lucifer takes the form of Bill's psychotic talkshow host, complete with the voice. But on the rare times he comes out not in his human-form, he sounds like Benedict's Smaug. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter because this was so much fun to write. Till next time😉


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my wonderful beta, Oksana Polastri, for being the the most wonderful human being I've ever had the fortune to know. Whatever mistakes you guys find in this chapter is definitely because of me, because I kept on making last minute additions.
> 
> Happy reading! :)

> **Death**

_(C-Crowley… Crowley, help! C R O W L E Y! Crowley, h-help me…_ Please… _)_

_(“I’m right here, kid. I’m right here. Just…try to hold on, okay? And for fuck_ _’s sake,_ don’t _you fucking die on me, alright?”)_

Oksana woke up sore in places she didn’t think was possible. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the type of pleasant soreness that she’d come to enjoy whenever she stumbled into bed with some gullible idiot she’d picked up from a bar. No, this was the kind of sore that she’d only ever had from her training. If she had thought that her training had pushed her body to its absolute limit, then she had been stupid to ever believe such a thing. Her mind slowly recalled that she’d been on her first ever mission, and she scowled when she recalled that she had nearly failed spectacularly and had barely escaped death. True, her target had been killed and she’d made sure the building was burned down to the ground to cover her tracks. But she’d gotten shot _six_ times, and it really bruised her ego. She was _the best_. She wasn’t supposed to get shot _at all,_ let alone multiple times.

She blinked her eyes a couple times to focus her sight, and found that she was lying in a familiar black bed, wearing a loose tank-top and silk-boxers over the many bandages that covered her body. If she strained her hearing, she could her the familiar tune of _It’s A Hard Life_ playing from just outside of the room. Pushing back the smile that threatened to take over her face, Oksana slowly rolled over the bed, being extra careful so she wouldn’t upset her wounds. There was a familiar black suit-jacket and black skinny-jeans on the armchair not far from the bed, and she painstakingly wriggled herself into both. Barefooted, she then limped her way out of the room and toward the sound of the Queen song that she’d grown up with.

The song came from the dining room, where Oksana found Crowley had already set up the table for the both of them. A huge bowl of steaming macaroni and cheese was on it, accompanied by a bottle of expensive wine that Oksana had only ever seen her handlers drank. The lanky redhead was sitting on his side of the table, and the only thing in front of him was a half-full glass of wine. When she finally reached the table, Oksana could only see one plate on one side of it, which was set on _her_ side of the table. Crowley had his head buried in a newspaper, seemingly unaware that Oksana was there. The blonde knew better though. Nothing ever really escaped Crowley.

“Hey, kid. I made dinner. I hope you’re not as picky as Aziraphale,” Crowley said, folding the newspaper before he threw it away.

Oksana looked at Crowley, who was looking back at her from behind his stupid glasses. Not for the first time in all the years she knew him, Oksana wished Crowley would _stop_ wearing his glasses so she could look into those beautiful golden eyes of his and see the emotions in them, as she asked him all the questions she’d been dying to ask. Why did he save her all those years ago? What did he see in her? Did she ever make him proud? Was he proud of her _now_? Then there were also the new questions, ones that were more pressing at that moment. How did he find her? Did he really hear her calling out for him? Was he the one who had saved her? Who healed the gunshot wounds that should have killed her? She had _so many_ questions for him.

But like always, there was this fear in the back of her mind that if she asked Crowley too many questions, he’d leave her alone.

And she wasn’t ready to lose him yet. Not ever.

So she kept quiet, gave him her trademark sweet smile, and took her seat across him.

“It’s fine. I like mac and cheese. Even though yours looks like shit,” Oksana replied, sticking her tongue out immaturely at Crowley.

She wouldn’t admit it, but her smile widened by an inch when Crowley laughed.

* * *

> **Tears**

“Why are you here, brother?” Crowley asked. He was eyeing Lucifer closely, who was sitting on the chair that Villanelle had just vacated a couple hours ago, when she took Aziraphale and Warlock to the hotel where they’d been staying the past few days.

“Can’t I visit my dearest brother?” Lucifer replied, pouting in a way that shouldn’t be _that_ adorable on the face of the King of Hell. “Like you said the other day, Raphael; it _has_ been eight thousand years.”

Crowley had just finished telling his Angel and younger child about his past. It took the whole day, and the whole time Aziraphale was quiet while Warlock kept asking him question after question. There was such a look of the utmost betrayal in Aziraphale’s eyes, and Crowley _hated_ it. He had always hated making his Angel upset. From all those years they spent together, the demon knew that the quieter Aziraphale got, the more upset he was. Even when Crowley had finished talking, Aziraphale was silent. Although, it wasn’t like he needed to talk to convey his feelings to Crowley. It was obvious from the way his pale blue eyes glistened with tears; in the way his bottom lip quivered. He was so grateful when Villanelle offered to take everyone to the hotel for their much needed sleep. He just wished that Lucifer had left as well when his family exited his room. But at least Lucifer had kept his mouth shut the whole time Crowley was speaking, and he hadn’t even said a word until Crowley asked him the question.

“I don’t answer to that name anymore, you know,” Crowley said through gritted teeth, glaring at his _brother._ “And unless you’re going to give me a straight answer, I want you to leave.”

Lucifer took a moment to give Crowley an unreadable look before he talked again. “I came here to wait with you while your family went to take some rest. I figured you’d need the company.”

“Well, you figured _wrong,”_ Crowley spat out. “But you know that wasn’t what I meant. Tell me why the fuck are you _here,_ disguised as a fucking doctor, instead of lounging in your wretched Kingdom. After eight thousand years, why did you show your stupid face now?”

“I’m sorry, but I distinctly remember that it was _you_ who didn’t want anything to do with me,” Lucifer retorted, his voice rising. “You were the one who refused to stand by my side, who chose to be a common demon of the lowest level, _just_ to spite me. Brother, it was you who spent the past eight thousand years avoiding me. It was you who _left me._ ”

Crowley noticed the way Lucifer’s eyes flashed dangerously, and realised that he should know better than keeping up their ridiculous argument. But things had been terrible for the demon, and he felt like blaming someone.

He felt like blaming his brother.

“I left because you have _ruined_ me!” Crowley yelled. “Because of you, I have lost everything I hold dear to me time and time again. I have been punished for _your_ mistakes, so I’m sorry if I’ve been trying get away from you for my own sake. But you’re like a bad penny, though. You always show up whenever I _don’t_ need you, Lucifer. And you know what? I have never needed you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Except for God, Lucifer had always been the most powerful being in the universe. Whatever miraculous feats Crowley could do, Lucifer could do them _twice_ more powerfully. So really, angering the King of Hell might not be the smartest thing to do. Lucifer wouldn’t even need Holy Water to get rid of Crowley if he wanted to. But then again, Crowley was beyond upset. And everyone knew that Crowley did a lot of stupid things even when he _wasn’t_ upset. The demon was ready anyway, to face whatever punishment Lucifer would dish out to him. He didn’t know if he was being brave or _stupid_ when he looked at Lucifer challengingly, barely flinching for the horror Lucifer would send his way. But then Crowley saw the tears brimming in Lucifer’s blue eyes, saw the lone tear rolling down his face, saw the profound sorrow. And it caught him off guard.

Because Crowley, who’d known Lucifer for ten thousand years, had never seen such emotion on the face of the King of Hell.

Not even when he’d Fallen.

And damn him to Hell, but Crowley felt _guilty._

“Lucifer—“

“If you must know, brother,” Lucifer said softly, sounding nothing like the brother Crowley knew, let alone the terrifying Evil all demons feared and respected. “I’m here because our Mother told me to help you.”

_“What?”_ Crowley yelped, eyes wide in disbelief. “You mean _God_ asked you? Personally?”

Lucifer nodded curtly, rising up into his full height when got off his seat. “It wasn’t like She needed to ask me though. I was already standing by your door when I heard Her voice… Good night, Crowley.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Crowley asked quickly when Lucifer made his way to the door. Somehow, in that split second it took Lucifer to get to Crowley’s door, he’d changed from his scrubs into a black suit.

“I’m leaving,” Lucifer said, his voice wavering a little as another lone tear fell. “Isn’t that what you want, _Crowley_?”

And before Crowley could even reply, Lucifer had left.

It took the demon a while to realise he had tears in his eyes too.

* * *

> **Snow**

_“_ Where are you taking _meeee_?” Villanelle moaned childishly, dragging out the last word. It was the seventh time in the last hour that she’d asked Crowley that question.

And every time, without taking his eyes off the road, Crowley would say, “Just wait and see, kid.”

Seven times were more than enough, Villanelle decided. So, although she made it known that she wasn’t happy about it by putting her feet up on the car’s dashboard, she stopped badgering the demon. Crowley ignored her, and much to her utmost annoyance, here merely turned on the radio and let Queen’s _I’m Going Slightly Mad_ blare through the car’s speakers. They were somewhere in Paris, about a year after the so-called Apocanope. Villanelle just had a _huge_ fight with Eve, so she decided that she would come to visit Crowley to cheer herself up. She didn’t tell the demon about it though, because she knew Crowley would probably do something to Eve. But that didn’t mean Crowley didn’t know something was wrong. Thankfully, he didn’t ask, and merely said that he was going to take her to Paris.

Villanelle was almost asleep when the Bentley finally stopped in front of a fancy house. Actually, calling it a house was a bit of an understatement. A mansion was more like it. This was the kind of place Villanelle used to dream of having when she was a child. These days, with the money she made from work, she probably could buy a house like this, complete with the beautiful garden and even the gazebo. But she was too busy jetting out all over the world anyway, so yeah. She noticed belatedly that Crowley had gotten out of the car, and she quickly followed him. They hadn’t been walking for long when Villanelle heard the slam of a door coming from the mansion. When she turned her heard toward the direction of the sound, she saw a blur of red and black and _purple_ before Crowley was tackled in a hug. Villanelle was sure that if Crowley wasn’t a demon, he would have fallen over from the force of the hug, at the very least. As it were though, the demon managed to catch what Villanelle later realised was a prepubescent boy into his open arms. He was pretty tall for someone who looked to be around twelve, almost as tall as Villanelle was. The boy was wearing black jeans and red shirt, with a black leather-jacket draped over his shoulders. His boots were also black, although the laces were red. His ensemble wasn’t all that surprising, not when Villanelle grew up with Crowley who wore similar colours almost all the time. It was the boy’s purple hair that caught her a little off guard.

“Nanny!” the boy exclaimed, pulling back a bit to give Crowley a beaming smile. “You’re here! You’re really here! You came!”

“I did promise you, didn’t I,” Crowley said. Villanelle noted that his voice had taken that soft tone he always used with her whenever he felt super emotional but wouldn’t admit it out loud. He reached up to ruffle the boy’s purple hair, a small grin on his face. “Love what you’ve done with your hair, by the way. What did your parents say about it?”

“Dad’s furious,” the boy replied proudly. “And Mum’s just had enough. Both of them are ignoring me right now. Which is something they’ve always done anyway, so whatever.”

A dark look crossed Crowley face, and Villanelle knew that the demon was planning on doing something terrible to the boy’s parents. It was no secret to anyone who knew Crowley that he was a huge softie, especially when it came to children. After all, that was how he ended up with Villanelle as his unofficial ward. As the assassin watched Crowley interact with the boy, she couldn’t help but to feel envious. She knew who the boy was, and how Crowley cared about him. True, she’d known for sometime that she wasn’t Crowley’s first child, that there had been many others before her. But as far as she knew, they’d all lived hundreds of years before herself. Looking at the way the two of them interacted made Villanelle realised that there was a chance she was no longer the only special kid that Crowley had in his life. That there was someone else other than her. It made her felt angry. Years later, she still wouldn’t admit that she’d flicked the snow with her boots to land on Crowley. She knew she could be childish at times, but that didn’t mean that she would admit it. She managed to get Crowley’s attention back on her though, and that was what was important at the time.

“Come here, you,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes fondly as he gave Villanelle his hand. Despite her initial envy, she took his hand and held it firmly. “Villanelle, I want you to meet Warlock Dowling. Lockey, my boy, this is my Villanelle.”

The assassin was immensely pleased at how Crowley introduced her as _his_ Villanelle.

“Hullo,” Warlock greeted, a big smile on his face. “I take it you’re my assassin sister? Nice to meet you, by the way. Nanny’s told me all about you, you know.”

“Is that so?” Villanelle said, turning to look at Crowley, who shrugged casually. “What did Crowley say about me, Warlock?”

“That you’re the most dangerous being he’s ever known,” Warlock answered, eyes wide as his whole body practically vibrated in excitement. “And that’s saying something, you know. Seeing that he’s a demon and all. I think you’re fucking cool, by the way.”

“Hmm…” The assassin hummed, looking at the boy up and down before she decided that he wasn’t all that bad. Giving him one of her very rare smiles, she said, “Do you want me to tell you how I killed this creepy psycopath after my girlfriend Eve stabbed me?”

“Yeah, of course!” Warlock exclaimed, at the same time that Crowley yelped, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Villanelle always thought that having Crowley was more than enough, but now that she’d met Warlock, she felt like she could learn to like the kid.

* * *

> **Songs**

“You know, Crowley; I love Queen just as much as anyone else in this world. But seriously, don’t you have _anything_ else?” Villanelle asked as she aimed a well-practised glare at the car’s radio. As if the car knew what she’d done, which she had no doubt was true, the volume of the song was cranked up to the point that she was halfway from going deaf.

She loved Crowley’s car. She really did. After all, who wouldn’t like a magical vintage Bentley? But if she had to listen to another Queen song, she would roll down her window and shoot someone. Or maybe, she’d just shoot Crowley instead.

“Anything you put here for more than two weeks would change into another album of _Queen’s Greatest Hits._ Sorry about that, kid,” came Crowley’s reply. But judging from the way there was a slight tug at the corner of his lips, Villanelle knew it was quite the opposite.

Yep. Definitely going to shoot the demon instead.

“ _Fine_. What if I put on something from my phone? You may be the cool one between you and Aziraphale, but compared to me? You’re practically a dinosaur, you know.”

Even from behind his glasses, Villanelle knew he was rolling his eyes. But she also knew that Crowley could never say no to her. She couldn’t help the smirk that made an appearance on her face when the demon turned off his radio. “Alright. Do whatever you want, you insolent brat. And oh, by the way; there’s no such thing as a dinosaur.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Play the music, Oksana.”

The assassin scowled, but kept her mouth shut and obliged. She’d confront Crowley again about it, she really would. For the moment though, she was going to introduce Crowley to her favourite song.

_Murder lives forever_

_And so does war_

_It's survival of the fittest_

_Rich against the poor_

_At the end of the day_

_It's a human trait_

_Hidden deep down inside of our DNA_

“Trust you to find a song this dark. You edgy little shit,” Crowley chuckled. He didn’t hide the fact that he was bobbing his head to the music though, so Villanelle knew he didn’t hate the song at least.

“What do you think about it? It’s not bad, is it?” she asked. Crowley, the infuriating bastard, merely gave her a shrug.

“It’s decent. But why wouldn’t it be so? You and I have the same taste in practically everything.”

Villanelle smirked as she turned up the volume. “I knew you’d like it.”

The demon and the assassin fell silent then as they enjoyed the rest of the song. Villanelle would never admit, nor object to the fact that she was the one who had texted Crowley the complete playlist of her favourite songs by that same artist. Crowley himself wouldn’t ever admit, nor object to the fact that he’d downloaded the songs into his own phone. And if one day Villanelle heard the song playing from Crowley’s phone when she came to visit his flat, she was wise enough to keep her mouth shut and say nothing.

* * *

> **Time**

He was late.

It was half past seven in the evening, and Lucifer still hadn’t shown up.

They were all gathered in his Mayfair flat—Crowley, Aziraphale, Villanelle and Warlock. After Crowley was finally allowed to leave the hospital, Aziraphale surprised everyone when he approached Lucifer, who was still disguised as a doctor, and invited him to dinner with the family. Crowley truly hadn’t seen that one coming, and he was almost sure that Aziraphale was possessed by Hastur because it was _so_ out of character for the Angel. Whilst things were finally getting better between him and Aziraphale, that didn’t mean that the Angel accepted Lucifer’s presence in Crowley’s life. If anything, Crowley had sort of thought that Aziraphale resented Lucifer, judging by the way he kept on scowling whenever Lucifer came to visit. So, when Aziraphale shyly asked Crowley’s _brother_ to come have dinner with all of them, Crowley thought he was dreaming. Then, when Lucifer agreed that he’d come the next day on Friday, after he’d gotten over his shock, Crowley was convinced that the Apocalypse was _finally_ coming.

The world surely was ending if a Principality was inviting the King of Hell to dinner.

Crowley tried not to be obvious about it, but he was actually really looking forward to having his brother to dinner with his family. He made sure that his house wasn’t only clean, but was also decorated luxuriously. Then he Miracled all of the best cuisine from all over the world that Aziraphale recommended to him, trusting his Angel’s taste. When his nerves were getting to him, he told Villanelle and Warlock to get Aziraphale out of the house for a while so he could yell at his plants. To blow off some steam. If his family noticed him that he was freaking out, they said nothing about it. In fact, they helped him to make sure everything was ready, and even went as far as dressing up in their best clothes. Then they waited with him. And waited. And waited.

_And waited._

“He’s not coming,” Crowley muttered, fighting back the disappointment that nearly overwhelmed him. “I told you he’s not coming.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said sadly as he gave Crowley a hug. “I shouldn’t have invited him. It’s just… I know that he actually matters a lot to you, and I had thought he did care about you. The way I do, the way Villanelle does, the way Warlock does.”

“It’s okay, Angel,” Crowley said, burying his face into Aziraphale’s curls. “It’s not your fault. I knew better than to get my hopes up. He probably does care about me, but that doesn’t mean that—“

“Sorry, I’m late. I have been standing outside your flat for the past fifteen minutes because apparently, being the King of Hell doesn’t mean that I’m not a coward.”

Crowley snapped his head around, and there _he_ was.

The King of Hell. God’s favourite Angel.

Lucifer.

Crowley’s brother.

“I brought a bottle of Cheval Blanc,” Lucifer said awkwardly, waving the expensive wine in peace offering. “I thought you might like it.”

“I do like it,” Crowley said in a small voice. “Thank you, brother.”

Lucifer smiled and nodded his head. “You’re welcome.”

“Come here and sit with me and _my_ brother, Lucifer,” Villanelle said, nodding at the seat beside her. There was a genuine smile on her face that she shared with Warlock.

“Yeah, man,” Warlock said, grinning in a way that made him look much younger than his actual age. “Tell us everything we don’t know about Crowley.”

“Alright,” Lucifer chuckled as he took his seat. “Has he ever told you about that time we hid Michael’s sword somewhere in Andromeda?”

“I’m sorry; you two did _what?_ ” Aziraphale asked, eyes wide in both shock and disbelief as he looked between the two Fallen.

Crowley had lived for around ten thousand years, and he’d been happy a lot of times through out the years. But this was probably the first time in _millennia_ that he finally felt complete.


End file.
